


unconventional saviours

by transfiguredtoad



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season 8, brienne is a stubborn wench, brienne is ill when Jaime arrives at Winterfell, jaime's trial, podrick grows up, soft jaime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 15:09:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21412201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transfiguredtoad/pseuds/transfiguredtoad
Summary: when Jaime arrives at Winterfell, Brienne has been injured and is unaware of his arrival. At his trial, he finds that he has another to vouch for him in her place, but that doesn't stop the stubborn wench from making an appearance
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 11
Kudos: 162





	unconventional saviours

“Please,” he begged, looking into dark eyes. “Tell me, is she well?” The guards laughed, their echoes rumbling in Jaime's cell. “I didn’t see her with Lady Sansa. Please, please, you have to tell me she lives?”

The guards only walked away, their armour rattling as they delivered food to the wailing prisoner in the next cell. Jaime Lannister groaned and collapsed against the wet, cold wall of his cell, bringing his plate of meagre food close to him. He balanced it with his stump and used his hand to scoop up the paste that was likely supposed to be porridge. That meant it was morning.

Jaime had spent five mornings at Winterfell, in this dismal cell. He had no visitors. His brother had been there upon his arrival, with Lady Sansa and the dragon queen. Jaime assumed one of the two women was stopping Tyrion's coming. If Jaime could release his brother before his execution, he was sure his brother could drag himself down to visit him, even just once. If Tyrion came, Jaime would know whether Brienne was alive or not.

There had been so many people there when Daenerys ordered Jaime’s arrest. He’d searched desperately as he was taken down, finding Podrick alone, finding Sansa alone. Brienne was nowhere to be seen. He’d panted to his guards as they kicked him in the stomach, demanding information about her. They’d ignored him. Since then, every time Jaime saw one, he begged to know where she was. He received a lot of laughter and a few beatings, particularly when he got too snarky as he was wont to. 

“Lannister,” the same guard who had brought him breakfast growled. Jaime could see that the man was tall, taller than him, and big, with quite a few missing teeth. Even so, Jaime didn’t take his eyes off the Northerner. “Time for your trial.”

They dragged him upstairs, uncaring for Jaime’s poor knees against the stone floor. Then, they took him across the yard, hardly concerning themselves with the fact that Jaime’s clothes were in a state and taking in the snow that coated the floor rather than protecting him from it . By the time that Jaime was brought into the Great Hall of Winterfell - the same room in which he had once dined with Ned and Catelyn Stark, with Cersei and her king - his legs were soaked with icy melted snow and shaking as though he was fearful. Jaime doubted it was purposeful on the northerners’ part but it certainly earned him some comments from the crowd that had gathered to watch the Kingslayer condemned.

Jaime felt a swooping sensation in his stomach as he regarded his judges. He had just wanted to fight with Brienne, to die by her side honourably, to protect her as much as he could from the wights so that she would live on and remember him well. An honourable death was what he had wanted. What he was going to receive was a traitor’s death, an execution. 

Maybe Brienne would be waiting for him on the other side - provided all good and bad people went to the same place. Otherwise, Brienne would be in the highest heaven and Jaime would be in a hell. He wasn’t so arrogant to assume it would be the lowest. Jumping into the bear pit for Brienne had surely earned him some points. Maybe he could work his way up through the hells and get to Brienne and spend eternity with her, fighting her. Maybe he would have both hands in the afterlife.

He really wished he’d paid attention to his childhood septon. He’d been far too concerned with what was up his sister’s skirts.

Daenerys Targaryen took centre stage at the high table from which the judges looked upon him. She was flanked by Jon Snow, a bastard turned king turned bastard, and Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell and Jaime’s one-time goodsister. Sansa’s face was not easy to read. She was ethereal, as though emotion did not bother her, the maiden made flesh. Jon Snow simply looked disinterested, but Daenerys was staring at him as though he were the man who killed her father.

Which, of course, he was.

“Jaime Lannister,” she pronounced. She had a voice that filled the room, like Jaime’s father had always told him all good lord had. Jaime had to learn to have a voice that commanded like that. He wondered if she had or if she was born with steel in her eyes and fire in her belly. Jaime met her eyes, shocked by the intensity of Queen Rhaella’s eyes staring into his soul. Jaime did not flinch, though he heard Rhaella scream as she was raped.

Jaime heard, once, that a babe conceived in rape was incapable of love. His stomach tightened.

“When I was a child, my brother would tell me a bedtime story,” the dragon queen continued, her mouth tight and eyes hard, “about the man who murdered our father-” burn them all flashed into Jaime’s head before he could shove it back down “- who stabbed him in the back and cut his throat, who sat down on the iron throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor. He told me other stories as well.” Jaime looked down. He wondered how much Prince Viserys had remembered his father. He doubted it was anything more than tales and snapshots, surely not the appaling rape his mother suffered, not the men and women and children his father cooked alive, not the Stark who had burned, nor the Stark who had choked. “All the things we would do to that man, once we took back the Seven Kingdoms and had him in our grasp.”

Jaime looked up again, meeting her flashing eyes. She continued, “Your sister pledged to send her army north.” Jaime glanced down and then back up.

“She did.”

“I don’t see an army. I see one man, with one hand.” Jaime didn’t react. He’d had years of taunts about his hand, and plenty in the last few days alone. Daenerys’ recapitulation was correct.

“She lied,” Jaime said simply, glancing at Tyrion, who closed his eyes slowly. “I believed her too.”

“And when you discovered her lie, Kingslayer, you did not decide to play queenslayer too?” the queen said. Jaime imagined shoving a sword through Cersei’s back. He would never do it. It would have to be her front.

“I wanted to leave with my life, your grace,” Jaime said, meeting her eyes again. “She threatened to set her monster upon me the second I said I was leaving. I would not have got near enough to kill her with a weapon.” Jaime felt Tyrion’s eyes on him.

“You believe the realm would be better with her dead, Ser Jaime?” Jaime’s eyes shifted to Sansa Stark, whose eyebrow quirked, marring an otherwise emotionless mask. Jaime felt a hand tighten around his throat.

“I doubt there are many in the realm who think otherwise, my lady.”

“Nevertheless, he cannot be trusted.” Jaime nearly groaned. And from his own goodsister. Sisters really were fucking him over just recently. “He cornered my father and his men in the streets of King’s Landing and butchered them. He started the War of the Five Kings.” She was looking at him but was clearly addressing the whole room. And she was lying. Catelyn Stark started the war when she kidnapped Tyrion. Although admittedly she only did that because Jaime threw her son out of a window… 

Jaime opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted. “My lady,” the voice said, stepping out from behind Jaime. Jaime turned, furrowing his brow, and found Podrick Payne, the squire he had gifted Brienne, stepping out to speak. Podrick stood himself next to Jaime, taller than Jaime had remembered, who shot a confused look at his brother. “My lady, your grace,” the squire said, his voice shaking, “I know that I have no right to speak here and that I have no right to expect you will listen to me, but I wish to speak on behalf of my lady.” Jaime’s heart wrenched at the brief mention of Brienne.

“Lady Brienne is not here, Podrick,” Sansa commented swiftly. 

Before she could speak again, Podrick shook his head. “No, my lady, she is not, but, if she were, it would be she standing here in my stead.” Jaime glanced at Podrick and then at Sansa. Was Brienne dead? Surely not. Surely she was out, on a mission, doing something for Sansa, something stupid most like, risking her life for honour and goodness. Jaime refused to believe she was dead, not until he had seen a body and had double checked to see if the stubborn wench was not still breathing.

“My lady, I do not know Ser Jaime, truthfully. During my one interaction with him, he saved my life by taking me from King’s Landing and giving me to the Lady Brienne, who had delivered him to King’s Landing on the word of your mother.” Jaime watched Sansa’s steady face carefully, observing a flash behind her eyes at the mention of her mother. “I was his final gift, after her sword, her armour and her life, many times over.” Jaime found himself wondering what the wench had told her squire, for him to speak so highly of him.

“When my Lady Brienne was his captor, Ser Jaime risked his life to save hers, in a bear pit. He saved her from being raped and lost his hand. He turned back when he was well away to bring her to King’s Landing where he could equip her to follow the oath that they had both made to your mother.” The truth, it seemed, was what Brienne had told Podrick. Jaime felt a sad smile play at his mouth and forced it down immediately.

“I understand, my lady Sansa, that there is a huge rift between the Starks and the Lannisters, and with good reason. But, if you kill this man, I swear that you will lose your sworn sword.” Jaime saw the stricken look on Sansa’s face and it was clear that she was surprised. Jaime savoured the warm feeling in Jaime’s heart at Podrick’s use of the future tense. Brienne had a future. She was alive. “She would be unable to serve the woman who had killed Ser Jaime.”

XXX

Brienne moaned aloud as she stood, shaking, having managed to lace her boots without passing out. She’d woken about an hour ago and lain still for as long as she could, trying to stem the swirling in her brain by focussing on what the guards were saying rather than the many things in the room. Then she’d heard them say Jaime’s name and she’d focussed on that, on Jaime. And on the horrible things he’d said at the dragonpit, the horrible things he always said. Oathkeeper glimmered in the corner of the room.

And then Brienne listened some more, suddenly wondering why they were speaking of Jaime, when he was in King’s Landing and not in Winterfell. She thought about him leading the army to Winterfell, thought about him arriving on the doorstep, armour shining and sun reflecting on his golden hair, in his green eyes. She imagined fighting beside him.

The guards spoke of a trial. Brienne took a while to piece together the information but she eventually understood: Jaime was at Winterfell, with no army, and he was about to go on trial.

Brienne reached the door and pushed it open, her hands sticky with sweat. She stepped out and pressed her hand against the cold stone wall. “My lady?” one of the guards said, his voice full of concern. Brienne recognised him from training. “My lady, you should be in bed,” he said. Brienne shook her head.

“Jaime,” she muttered, nearly groaning with the effort of standing upright. “Take me to Jaime.” It hadn’t really taken much more than that for them to accompany her to the hall where Jaime’s trial was being held. She had simply stared at them with as much venom as possible until they gave in.

The guard she recognised had his arm around her waist as she stumbled into the hall, keeping her from falling flat on her face. Brienne could hear Podrick’s voice. “She would be unable to serve the woman who had killed Ser Jaime.”

Over the tops of the heads of the crowd, Brienne could see the back of Jaime’s head. Brienne’s heart lurched. She was positive this wasn’t a fever dream. If it was, it was irrationally cruel.

“Please,” Brienne rasped to the guard. Her thighs shuddered as she put one foot in front of the other, the guards barging their way through the crowd that had come to see Jaime incarcerated. Or killed. Brienne felt bile rising in her throat, possibly to do with the fever, possibly to do with the sudden images of Jaime’s execution which assaulted her mind.

They finally made their way to the front of the crowd, where there was enough room to breathe and to see Jaime fully, or the back of him. Podrick stood to his side, tall and stoic under the gaze of Sansa Stark and Daenerys Targaryen. Sansa noticed her at that point, her eyes widening and her lips parting, and Jaime noticed that. Brienne watched him tense as she wrestled her arm from the guards and rushed forward, falling down beside him and reaching for him automatically. She moaned in pain.

“Brienne,” he breathed, his left hand reaching for hers and pulling her up. He wrapped his stumped arm around her waist. “What- are you-” He pressed the back of his hand to Brienne’s forehead. Brienne grunted at the touch, enjoying his cold flesh against her warm skin. “You’re ill - you should be in bed,” he ordered.

“Yes, she should,” Sansa’s voice said as she strode over to them, her fancy shoes clicking loudly on the stone floor. She grasped Brienne’s arm, trying to tug her away from Jaime, who held fast. Brienne snuggled into his hold. She was so weak that she could fall and she trusted Jaime to keep her upright if she did.

“Why are you here?” Jaime asked, pushing her hair back from her face. Brienne’s head was all over the place, her eyelids heavy.

“I couldn’t let them kill you,” she slurred, looking up at Sansa. “My lady, don’t kill him. He’s an hon- an honour-” she broke off as the whole world turned beneath her feet and she stumbled again, Jaime catching her at the last moment.

“Lady Brienne, you should be abed,” Queen Daenerys said from the high table. Brienne shook her head, stepping forward and pressing her hand against Jaime’s chest. She could feel his heart beating rapidly. She glanced backwards, finding his green eyes focussed on the splay of her fingers against his heart.

“Don’t kill him,” she begged, turning back to Daenerys’ steel eyes.

“You stubborn wench,” Jaime muttered and Brienne could hear the anger in his tone. She pushed as hard as she possibly could on his chest. “You’re going to kill yourself.”

“The bearpit,” she choked, taking all of her strength from Jaime, whose arms reached out, fingers tickling her hip.

“Come on, my lady,” Podrick said, replacing Sansa in her previous position. He put an arm around her waist and Brienne dropped her arm, feeling the connection with Jaime’s chest disappear. She glanced at her fingers, shocked that they didn’t sparkle or shine. “We’ve done all we can.” It only dawned on Brienne then that Podrick had been defending Jaime. A sleepy, proud smile grew on Brienne’s face as she looked down at her squire.

“No,” she refused even so. “I won’t leave him alone. They’ll kill him,” she said, panic rising in her stomach. She could not bear it if she fell asleep and awoke to find Jaime dead. She grasped Jaime’s forearm with both of her hands. “Don’t let them take me.”

“You’re of no use to me in this state, Brienne,” Jaime murmured, looking down at her with his beautiful green eyes. 

Brienne shook her head. She stumbled but did not fall as Podrick and Jaime supported her. Jaime stared at her, his eyes absurdly flashing. “My lady,” Brienne said, pleading in her tone as she turned to Lady Sansa, who hovered by Podrick, “please let me vouch for him.”

Sansa shook her head just slightly as if to clear it. Brienne stared at her, her eyelids drooping as she fought for energy. She could feel it seeping out of her every moment she was standing. “I give Ser Jaime guest right,” Sansa declared, her voice filling the room. Brienne heard Jaime inhale sharply close to her ear. She heard the screech of a chair at the high table. And then she heard nothing more.

\---

The next time Jaime saw Brienne’s beautiful eyes was a few hours later, when they flickered open and panic immediately. He chuckled and pulled her coverlet down slightly so that she could breathe more easily. Reaching for the goblet of water he had poured for her when he and Podrick had wrestled her back into the bed, he murmured, “how are you feeling?”

She shook her head, adjusting herself so that Jaime could help her drink some water. When she was done, she simply turned her head away, seemingly not caring when Jaime spilled water on her neck. “Thank you,” she rasped. Jaime’s lips twitched.

“You’re the most stubborn wench in Westeros,” he commented, wiping her mouth with the end of his shirt sleeve. He saw the corners of her lips move upwards.

“I couldn’t let you die. Nothing is-”

“Nothing is more hateful than failing to protect the one you love, yes, I know,” Jaime said with a roll of her eyes. If she was more lucid, she might have flushed. As it were, she simply looked away. “Nevertheless, wench, I’m going to have to insist that you do not do anything so foolish again. You might end up killing yourself and then who would I have to ensure nobody kills me?”

“To protect you, you mean?” she said, smiling sleepily. Jaime snorted, nodding and standing. Panic lit up her eyes.

“Don’t worry, wench, I’m not leaving,” he promised. She smiled, settling down comfortably against her pillows. He simply leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, rubbing his thumb against her cheek.


End file.
